Lost In Time
by pixie.dust.attack
Summary: "The hard part's over, you got her to agree to marry you." "Thanks so much, Ron."  A series of snapshots and moments in time; the lives, losses and loves of the Potters and Weasleys following the war. Because there is so much we don't get to see.
1. Set Free

**Hello readers! This is a collection of snapshots and vignettes of the lives of the Potter and Weasley clans following the end of Voldemort's reign of terror. It's a series of random moments, both big and small, in chronological order, that offer a glimpse into what their lives might be like (So, there's not really a plot, but there's a vague sort of storyline). I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is welcomed gratefully.**

_**One: Set Free**_

Fiddling anxiously with his dress robes, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Bill and Charlie had felt this way too, when they'd stood in this exact spot in the backyard of the Burrow. He wondered if they'd had that tightness in their chests, making it impossible to breathe normally. Or if their stomachs were clenched and fluttery, as though a thousand Cornish pixies had been let loose, wreaking havoc. Or perhaps their mouths had been drier than parchment, or their heads had spun, with the dizzying feeling of having had one too many fire whiskeys.

Because Harry was experiencing all of these things, and he hardly knew how to react. He supposed he should have asked the eldest Weasley brothers for their advice, but it was a little late for that now. He opted instead for fidgeting restlessly.

As he tugged on his sleeves for the umpteenth time, his best man leant forward to slap his hands into stillness.

"Cut it out," he snapped sternly. Seeing the sheepish look on his face, he relented a little. "Look, mate, just relax. It'll all be fine. The hard part's over, you got her to agree to marry you."

"Thanks so much, Ron," Harry bit back sarcastically.

Any other banter was cut off by the appearance of the girl in question. As she strode down the aisle cutting through the sea of seated relatives, Harry was utterly mesmerized. He took in every tiny detail, committing it to memory. The way the light ivory material of her dress swathed her lithe body perfectly, flowing to the floor and swishing gently with each step. The way one hand curled around a bouquet of red and white calla lilies, while the other curled around her father's arm. The way her ginger hair was pulled into an elegant twist, a few tendrils snaking loose to frame her pale, freckled face. The way her soft pink lips were pulled into a gentle smile that made her face glow. And finally, the way her warm hazel eyes locked on his, conveying a kaleidoscope of emotions that mirrored his own; excitement, nervousness, worry, but above all, joy.

Later that evening, Harry watched as his beautiful new bride was twirled around the dance floor, passed between every male present; her father, her brothers, her multitudes of uncles and cousins, their school friends, even ex-boyfriends (Harry watched these closely). Finally, she was twirled back into his waiting arms, and he grinned as they shuffled – somewhat awkwardly, he had to admit – to the beat of the music.

"What was that face for?" Harry demanded as Ginny's face twisted into a mask of pain and disgust.

"My feet are killing me," she groaned, startling a laugh from Harry, who promised her a foot massage later that evening, to her delight. The grinned at each other in starry-eyed bliss for several long moments, until Ginny's smile started to fade.

"Hey, are you alright?" Harry asked, raising a hand to brush a stray curl away from her cheek. She smiled sadly.  
>"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just...there's so many people missing. So many people who should've been here to see this day. I just miss them all, that's all."<p>

Harry winced at the sorrow in her voice, and the stab of pain in his heart as countless faces flashed through his mind; his mother, his father, Sirius, Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby...the list went on and on. Even four years after the end of Voldemort's reign of terror, the wounds and the pain of these losses had barely started to heal. He pulled his new wife closer, as much for his own comfort as hers.

"I know," he whispered against her soft hair, his voice heavy with the guilt and despair that often threatened to overwhelm him. "I miss them too."

She pulled away from him gently, catching his gaze firmly with hers.

"Hey, let's not mope. I shouldn't have brought it up. This is our day, and we have each other. And I'm happy. Aren't you happy?"

Smiling at this beautiful, feisty woman he could now call his own, Harry's heart seemed to swell.

"Yes. Yes, I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been."

"Well, good." And as she leant in to capture his mouth with hers, Harry thought that for the first time in his life, he felt truly happy, and lucky, and alive. He was free.


	2. Sail the Wildest Stretch

**Instalment 2 =] Be warned, there are significant time jumps in this story. Just in case you get confused.**

Two: Sail The Wildest Stretch

"I think you'd better get this stomach bug checked out by a healer," Harry commented, his voice laced with concern, as he held Ginny's fiery locks away from her face for the fourth morning in a row. He paused while Ginny retched loudly into the porcelain toilet bowl she was currently cradling. "I mean it. The wedding is in three days time, and Hermione will kill you if you throw up during the ceremony. She has every last detail planned to perfection, and you spilling the contents of your stomach in the aisle is not on the itinerary." His voice was light and teasing, but it was belied by the worry reflecting in his emerald eyes.

Ginny's only response was a groan, quickly followed by heaving and the sickening splash of her undigested porridge crash-landing in the toilet. It was several long moments before she felt steady enough to wipe her mouth and watery eyes. She finally, slowly, spun on her knees to face her husband. In a wavering voice, she quietly announced, "I don't think it's a stomach bug, Harry."

A nervous, jittery feeling was beginning to spread through Harry's stomach.

"What do you mean? Of course it's a stomach bug. You've been sick as a dog for the last few days," Harry insisted, a little too forcefully. Ginny raised an eyebrow at his strange muggle expression, but didn't comment. Instead, she steadied herself with three deep breaths.

"I'm late, Harry."

"Late for what? You don't have to be at work for another hour."

"Don't be daft. You know what."

A moment of complete stillness and silence settled between the pair. Harry now felt as if an acrobatic troupe had taken up residence in his stomach and were currently performing tricks and turns. His breathing had become ragged and harsh, and his eyes darted like frantic hummingbirds between Ginny's pale face and her flat stomach beneath her jumper.

"You're serious?"

Worrying her bottom lip anxiously between her teeth, Ginny gave a hesitant nod. Yes, she was serious. She was also terrified. Terrified of her body's strange new behaviour, terrified of the reality it represented, terrified of Harry's reaction. She was only 22, for Merlin's sake. She didn't know if they were ready for this.

"Are you certain?"

"No. But it's pretty likely," she admitted reluctantly.

"How...how do you find out for sure? Do you want me to go buy you a kit, do you have to pee on a stick, or -" Ginny quickly interrupted his ranting, her brow knitted into a confused frown.

"Pee on a stick? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, that's how muggles find out!" Harry shouted defensively. Ginny rolled her eyes. He might have been the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the golden saviour of the wizarding world, but sometimes Harry Potter was just plain clueless.

"No, you tosspot, there's a spell."

"Oh."

Another hesitant silence crept stealthily between them.

"Well...can you do the spell?"

"I don't know it, exactly. I have to ask mum."

"Oh, alright. But...but you're fairly certain, anyway?" Harry's voice hitched up in the end, sounding suspiciously like the beginnings of hysteria. Forcing herself to breathe, Ginny nodded slowly, eyeing her husband closely.

"Merlin," he whispered lowly through his teeth, "you're pregnant. You – we - a baby –"

All of a sudden, he pulled her into a tight trembling embrace. She buried her tear-streaked face in his chest, hands fisted in his jumper.

"Harry?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of his jumper. "I'm scared."

"Me too," he confessed quietly. "But hey, at least we got to practice on Teddy for the past five years," he joked. Ginny pulled away, chuckling quietly as she wiped her eyes.

"Yeah," she smiled, her voice growing in confidence. "Yeah, we can do this. We can be parents."

A grin spread slowly over Harry's face as he gazed into his wife's warm brown eyes, and he spoke in a voice filled with a dazed sort of wonder.

"We're having a baby."


	3. Words, Hands, Hearts

**Instalment 3. This chapter is the reason the story is rated T – coarse language. You have been fairly warned. I hope you enjoy :) Reviews appreciated!**

**Three: Words, Hands, Hearts**

"It's going to be okay, Ginny, I promise, just breathe, okay? Deep breaths, just take deep breaths, breathe in and-"

"If you tell me to fucking breathe one more fucking time, I'm going to hex the shit out of you," Ginny hissed through gritted teeth as another wave of pain washed over her, forcing her to double over and clutch desperately at the blankets. Harry blinked in shock at the ferocity of her words. He knew she was in pain. He knew she didn't mean it. That didn't make him any less surprised. Or bemused. He now felt as useless as horns on a hippogriff.

"Oh. Right. Well...did you want me to leave?" He asked uncertainly, edging away towards the door. Suddenly, Ginny's hand lashed out like a striking snake, grasping his shirt and keeping him rooted firmly to the spot.

"If you leave me here by myself, I will Petrificus Totalus your ass."

The healer bustling around Ginny setting her up for labour snorted at the young couple's antics. Ah, to be young and in love, and in the midst of labour.

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Switch places with me."

"Not possible, even with all the magic in the world."

"Well, stand there and hold my hand and look fucking pretty okay? Just – shit!" She gasped as another contraction rolled over here.

Harry was beginning to regret teaching her all those muggle swearwords.

"You're getting close now, Mrs Potter. Won't be long," the healer consoled her, smirking at the startled looking Harry Potter. Ginny's hand crushed his so hard that his knuckles burned white, and he struggled not to wince and pull his hand away. Apparently, being famous didn't save you from the dramatics of childbirth.

The sheen of sweat across her brow, the sickly pallor of her skin, the expression of utter exhaustion and agony scrawled across her face, and the tension of her body had completely freaked Harry out. He, Harry Potter, The Chosen One, slayer of Voldemort, was totally terrified of childbirth, and overwhelmingly frightened for his wife. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and not ask the redundant "Are you alright?" that kept springing to mind. He just let her squeeze his hand in a death-grip as contraction after contraction rocked her body. Until, finally:

"Alright, Mr and Mrs Potter, it's time."

Hours later, an exhausted Ginny curled up on the bed, in the comforting circle of her husband's arms, as a warm rush of relief and giddy exhilaration washed over her. The couple cuddled in companionable silence, their attention completely fixated on the small, precious bundle tucked between them.

He had entered the world howling and squirming, and hadn't stopped until he'd had his first bath and feed. He now stared curiously back at his parents with twinkling hazel eyes, squirming half-heartedly against his firmly-wrapped blankets, and emitting the occasional mewl or gurgle.

"He's perfect, Harry," Ginny whispered in a wavering voice, gently playing with her newborn son's tiny fingers. Harry nodded in agreement, the lump in his throat preventing him from talking. Truth be told, he was still terrified; terrified of the vulnerability of this tiny being before him, terrified of being responsible for him. Sure, he already had Teddy, but he'd never had to _raise _him – he just got to be the cool godfather. But then, those tiny fingers had reached out and wrapped around his own. And he realised that already his baby boy, so small and helpless but so full of life, had totally captured his heart; it seemed to swell to bursting point with pride and love and joy. He ran a hand softly over the thick, unruly tuft of black hair covering the tiny skull. It was already obvious to Harry that this little boy was going to be trouble; a regular mischief-making marauder. Grinning at the thought, Harry turned his attention to his teary-eyed wife.

"Let's call him James. James Sirius Potter."

Ginny eyed her restless, wriggling baby for a moment, pondering the name. Before long, she had turned to plant a soft kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Yes. It suits him perfectly. James Sirius Potter," she cooed to the infant. And baby James gurgled contentedly in agreement.


	4. Après Moi La Deluge

**Sorry for the delay in getting this one out! University assignments got in the way. Thank you to all those who read this story, I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. I'd love feedback, so please review if you are enjoying/have any comments about this story.**

**Four: Après Moi La Deluge**

As he watched his wife cuddled and coo over the newborn baby, he could feel an undeniable rush of panic rise up in his chest. It was white-hot, fiery and ferocious, like that bloody Hungarian Horntail.

He fought to keep his breathing normal. He shoved his hands in his jacket pocket to stop them from clenching. And every time his wife raised her eyes to beam at him over the swaddled bundle of baby, he gulped and forced his mouth into a weak smile.

But his heart raced furiously, banging wildly against its bone cage, and he couldn't ignore that sickening leaden feeling as his stomach seemed to sink to his ankles. And one succinct phrase chased itself around his mind.

_Oh, bloody hell._

Finally, he could bear it no longer. Mumbling some cock-and-bull excuse to the women – who were so caught up fussing over that goddamned baby they barely noticed – he grabbed his best mate and dragged him off to the kitchen.

"Why the bloody hell did you have to go and do that for!" he hissed angrily at his perplexed friend. "Everything was fine and then you go and –and now- it's –she's – oh, bloody hell, what were you thinking?" His mate stared at him in bemused silence for several long moments.

"What," Harry demanded finally, eyebrows raised, "the hell are you prattling about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Ron snapped, his face flushing furiously – partly from the overwhelming panic attack, but mostly from the effort of not yelling.

"I really don't. Enlighten me," Harry drawled, eyeing his best friend curiously. The red-head had absolutely lost the plot. Harry had a hunch about where this freak out was coming from, but he wasn't about to encourage Ron's insanity.

"Why did you have to go and have that bloody baby!"

"Oi, you git, that's my son you're talking about!" Harry snapped defensively. His protests fell on deaf, red-tipped ears.

"And now she's gone completely ga-ga over it-"

"-_him-"_

"And she's gonna become baby-obsessed, and before I know it she's going to want her own baby, and-and – I'm not ready for that, Harry!" Ron turned the full force of his wide-eyed, frantic stare on his best friend. Harry considered messing with him for a moment; but the poor bloke looked so absolutely panicked that Harry decided to give him break.

"Okay, you need to just... calm down."

"I can't calm down!" Ron hissed. "She keeps giving me that look – that 'oh-Ron-let's-make-a-baby' look! What am I going to do, Harry? This is bad!" Ron's melodrama simply earned him an eye-roll.

"Look, I wasn't ready either, okay? It's not like we were planning to have a baby," Harry confessed in an awkward attempt to console his friend.

"But you were so – I dunno – so cool about the whole thing!"

"On the outside, maybe, but I was completely freaking out. I just learnt to go with it. And look at us now – we're happy."

"Really? Because you look like crap."

"Well, we're sleep-deprived, but we're _happy_," Harry snapped, glowering at his hard-headed friend. He softened a little, and clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder, a wicked glint in his emerald eyes. "You, my friend, just have to man up and grow a set."

"Thanks, Harry, that's real helpful mate," Ron retorted sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You're never going to give Hermione what she wants if you don't."

"Sod off, you git."

"Besides, you're being a coward. You just need to talk to Hermione. And stop freaking out, it's not going to help."

"I'm still blaming you for this baby craze," Ron grumbled. But he grudgingly let Harry push him back into the sitting-room, where he resumed his place on the lounge to nervously watch as his wife adoringly cradled their nephew. And when, yet again, she beamed at him all starry eyed over the slumbering infant, he couldn't help the thought that flashed once more through his mind.

_Oh, bloody hell._


End file.
